As I was lying in the courtyard, someone yelled at me from the second-floor balcony.

I couldn’t understand what he said, but he sounded quite rude and pissed me off.

Before I could look up, the person had disappeared.

With great effort I managed to lift myself without waking up.

I absolutely had to throw a stone at his window, and I began to look for one among the lawn and the piles of rocks.

I found one of the right size, but as soon as I started loading the launch, I realized that if I’d put too much force into it I would have woken up. So my launch was so limp that it didn’t even reach the ground floor windows.


I found another stone closer and tried to put a little more strength into the launch.


I’d hit a window on the ground floor, but it was fine anyway.

The glass had not shattered though, except for a small hole the exact size of the stone.

In that rocky valley, a bit dry and oppressive, my mother kept repeating how beautiful the place was.

It’s nothing exceptional, there are much better places, it’s just that you want to make yourself believe.

We were in Russia, but also in South America.

That evening a big fiesta was celebrated.

I only remember getting into a busy club, and then the next morning, it was still dark and I was wandering through the littered alleys.

In some mud puddles, I noticed packs of biscuits and chocolate that seemed intact.

One of the packagings was branded GIANDUIA.

I opened it, a little hesitant but I could not hold myself from tasting it. It was delicious, soft and intense chocolate similar to a Cremino, but better and large. I couldn’t stop eating it.

Shortly afterwards, returning to the site, I saw a whole family of pigs scratching in those same puddles.